Slippers
by poeticmaiden
Summary: Still suffering from heartache over the death of his wife, Watson takes in a kitten to placate his need for something to care for - without consulting his fellow-boarder.
1. Chapter 1

**This is yet another story of mine that is a response to a writing prompt from the Watson's Woes LJ community, which called for something with Watson and a cat. I hope you enjoy it. :)  
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February. Mary had always said that February made her heart ache, that it was when Winter became an infamous name to her. February was when the two of them would sit in front of a blazing fire, and she would lay her head on his chest and cry for reasons that she couldn't explain. February was also when the veil would finally lift from her eyes as she saw the first of the crocuses, and the darkness would melt into the joyful Springtime of her soul.

Once. Now February was just another month in Baker Street. February was when he hid alone in his room and cried for reasons that he could explain, but that his fellow boarder could never begin to understand. Days were filled with sentences, spoken or unspoken, that he couldn't finish for fear of cracking his mask of normalcy. Every thought, when traced far enough, somehow led back to her.

There was one evening when Holmes, in a good humor, decided to play a waltz on his violin instead of one of his unpredictable improvisations. Watson sat in his chair with his eyes closed, letting the familiar music drift over the borders of his brain, feeling an irrepressible longing to be gliding across the floor with her hands in his, with her eyes shining as they looked up at him. But it wasn't any of that he wanted, not in itself. It was her! All he wanted was to have her soul somewhere nearby so that he could love it and feel some flicker of love in reply! He would have done absolutely anything to see her smile again. Holmes would have cited that as proof that love was a folly that clouded logic, of course — but Watson didn't care at all. That was a mere machine's opinion of love, for a machine could not love, and therefore could never hope to understand it.

Those were the days when he felt trapped in Baker Street, when he wished for anything to break him out of this surreal bachelor existence. Which explained why, when Mrs. Hudson announced one morning that there was an old neighbor downstairs for him, he felt he couldn't get down that flight of stairs fast enough.

Mrs. Burnshaw stood on the doorstep and smiled her eternal grandmotherly smile at him, a basket clutched under her arm containing a bundle that wriggled ominously. Watson invited her in, but she laughed and shook her head.

"I can't stay, I'm afraid," she said. "I've only got a moment to spare. My husband and I are in town on an errand, and I just thought I'd stop in to say hello — and to give you something." She switched her basket to her other arm. "Your dear wife was always so fond of cats. Ginger, your old kitty, had kittens a little while back.... and well, I was wondering if you might like one, if you and your fellow lodger wouldn't mind a little extra company."

While she was saying this, she removed the blanket that covered the contents of the basket to reveal two little bundles of fluff, one colored the same brown as her mother, and the other gray with four delicate white paws. The brown one was asleep and seemed to take no notice of the fact that the blanket was gone, while the other one yawned and proceeded to stare up at Watson with the most adorable pair of eyes he had seen in a long time.

A cat! That was one of the things he had missed about his old life back in Kensington — the companions to curl up in your lap if you sat still too long. Something to love; something that would return affection in its own way. There was no denying that his heart leapt at the thought of taking one of the fluffballs inside.

But Holmes....

Watson glanced up at the window of the sitting room, where he knew Holmes was reclining in his armchair, thinking over his latest case. If he simply brought a kitten in, Holmes would pounce upon him and demand that he return the "horrid thing" to its former owner before the good lady had even walked out of sight.

Oh, nevermind what Holmes thought! This rash action would assuredly have consequences, but enough was enough, and he was going to keep one of those kittens, even if he had to do it in secret!

He scooped up the gray one, which let out a soft meow and then nestled into his arms.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Burnshaw. I'm sure Holmes wouldn't mind."

The old lady beamed and then said farewell, stepping into her cab without any further ceremony and disappearing down the street.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson watched the cab until it was out of sight, wondering what on earth he had just gotten himself into.

The plaintive meowing of the gray kitten brought him back to the present, and he looked down to see that the little thing to would be poking holes in his sleeve with its claws if he didn't do something with it soon. He didn't feel up to provoking a battle by bringing the creature into the sitting room....

He went in and went straight up to his bedroom, depositing the little furball on his bed before running back downstairs and knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door. The good woman appeared in the doorway in a moment, looking at him suspiciously.

"Do you think you could give me a saucer of milk?"

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows. "I thought you knew better to take in stray cats, Doctor."

"No," Watson said awkwardly, pulling out all the charm he could muster. "It's a perfectly angelic kitten, given to me by the neighbor I was talking to a few minutes ago. I would have asked you first, but she really was in a hurry."

Mrs. Hudson seemed to soften a little. "Well, I'm not sure, Doctor...."

"Oh, please, Mrs. Hudson" he begged. "It's the offspring of my old cat back at Kensington, and I..."

She melted completely. "Well, alright," she said with a smile. "If she really is an angelic creature like you said, then I'm sure I'd be delighted to have her around the house. You have checked the idea with Mr. Holmes, haven't you?"

Watson felt the color rising to his cheeks. "Well, no, actually," he said. "I thought it would be best if I kept her in my room for the present."

Unexpectedly, Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Mr. Holmes would be more likely to murder the poor darling at this stage. Very well, I'll get you your saucer of milk, and I have an old blanket that you could give her. Oh, and you might also need this..."

She disappeared into her rooms and returned with the milk and the blanket, along with several other items that she deemed "absolutely necessary" for a young kitten. Watson loaded himself with the paraphernalia, and began walking back up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson following behind him.

Watson repressed a gasp when he entered the room and saw that the kitten was no longer on his bed where he had left it. He hastily dumped the stuff on the floor, but behind him Mrs. Watson let out an exclamation of "oh, the darling!" and rushed over to the foot of the bed.

Watson peered over her shoulder to find that the kitten had decided to curl up in his roomy slipper, and was dozing pleasantly. I meowed when Mrs. Hudson picked it up, but immediately began purring as she stroked its downy fur.

"You were right, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson gushed. "She is a perfect little angel! I won't mind at all having her about the house! What are you going to name her?"

The thought of a name had not crossed his mind. He had been rather unaware that the cats in Kensington even had names of their own until Mary had informed him of the fact. Now he saw that he would have to think of something, or else risk Mrs. Hudson giving it a pet name that he wouldn't be able to say without feeling like he'd lost his manly dignity. Glancing around, his eyes lighted on the kitten's chosen resting place. "Uh... how about Slippers?"

"Slippers...." Mrs. Hudson tried the name out. "Well, I suppose it will do. I had a Mittens when I was growing up, and Slippers is not that far off..... although she looks almost too sweet for such a name. Are you sure we couldn't call her something more darling?"

"Slippers," Watson repeated firmly.

"Oh, all right," Mrs. Hudson sighed. She handed the newly-christened feline to Watson and proceeded to bustle about the room, putting the various cat supplies in various corners of the room, until it looked like there had always been a cat there.

"Now, Doctor," she commanded. "I suggest you stay up here until she gets settled."

"And how long will that be?" Watson asked with some apprehension. "If I don't return to the sitting room soon, Holmes will begin to suspect something is up."

Mrs. Hudson glanced disapprovingly at him. "In that case, twenty minutes at the least. It's not my fault if that little dear dies from neglect."

"She won't," Watson assured her. Mrs. Hudson turned to go, but Watson stopped her.

"Promise not to breathe a word of this to Holmes?"

She smiled over her shoulder at him. "Of course I promise," she said. "It will be our little secret. I daresay I'm falling in love with the little angel myself." She disappeared down the stairs with a good-natured chuckle.


End file.
